Chicken Pox Diary
by iamselena
Summary: Who says I only write about my adventures? Well, I guess fatherhood is some sort of adventure, so I guess it counts. -Indy


**AN:** Just a short, simple oneshot. The idea was expanded by a friend of mine, _**Ellen**_, who reviewed in my last story, asking for an Indy/Mutt fic. So here you go, girl! Thanks for bearing with me and my scarce updates!

Oh, just in case you guys are confused, Mutt is seven-years-old here, and Indy didn't suffer from idiocy and left Marion.

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_**Chicken Pox Diary**_

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**Day One:**

I am writing in my good, old, battered journal about this unique experience of mine. Usually, I write the adventures I have around the world, but I thought this deserves some sort of recognition in my life.

Marion is in New York, and Mutt has chicken pox.

You read right. Chicken pox.

You know, where your child has these reddish-pink spots appearing all over their three-foot body, which you try to connect with a permanent marker. These spots simply appeared while I was reading the newspaper, and I noticed Mutt scratching his tummy continuously. I asked him if some sort of insect bit him, and he said that he was itchy all over.

As the good father I am (actually, I called Marion and she suggested I called the doctor), I rushed him to the pediatrician. The doctor calmly announced that it was the real deal: chicken pox. I paled, and for a moment, thought about contacting Marion and ask her if she could fly back immediately here. But my wife had been wanting to go visit New York since we last been there. I couldn't simply ask her to come home to take care of our son.

That's when I decided to take this matter into my own hands.

I'm sure this'll be a breeze. I mean, how hard is it taking care of a seven-year-old sick of chicken pox?

**Day Two:**

I pity the boy. God. I couldn't remember the feeling having these irritating spots when I was a kid. I could hear Mutt scratch his arm for a hundredth time that day, and wondered what I can do.

Of course, I called the Savior. The Superman of my time. The person whom I know I could get advice from.

"Buy some calamine lotion and soak him in some oatmeal bath," Marion suggested.

And I did.

It's not that I'm helpless. I'm not. But Marion invariably knew more than me. It's common knowledge that women knew more about these things than their husbands. So I stocked up on bottles and bottles of calamine lotion and made oatmeal baths for Mutt.

Mission accomplished. That wasn't so bad.

**Day Three:**

The sad thing about being sick is that you can't get out of bed. Which was the reason why Mutt has been complaining to me for about an hour or so that he was **bored**. B-O-R-E-D. Bored.

So I thought I'd rustle up some permanent markers and play connect the dots with him. I actually connected several dots on his tummy that formed a picture of my beloved fedora hat. Mutt said it looked like his puppy. Huh. Hat and dog. Gotta admit this boy had imagination.

We did that all day until Mutt complained that the spots were getting too itchy. He was relieved from the irritation when I soaked him up in a good oatmeal bath.

Heh. This chicken pox business is a piece of cake.

**Day Six:**

I haven't written for two days. That's because I am so damn tired. Mutt's been running a fever, and I had to rush him back and forth to the doctor, since I couldn't contact Marion (there's a storm that hit New York, and it made communication impossible).

Oh, got to go. I forgot to feed Mutt.

**Day Seven:**

I smell. Literally.

Mutt's fever spiraled to 39 degrees, and I couldn't just leave the poor boy alone. And just when I was feeding him some of my homemade soup, he puked on me. He said sorry, and I forgive him (I had to call Oxley and persuade him to take my favorite shirt to the laundry).

I want to write more (Mutt managed to puke on me twice), but I really got to take a bath. I smell like spaghetti. Gross.

**Day Ten:**

I've been feeling tired myself. I think I caught a slight fever, possibly from Mutt. He's feeling better now, but at least he wasn't burning hot. He's cheerfully eating Jell-O in his bed, counting the time he managed to puke on me during the last few days (six times, actually). Boy had a good laugh about that.

I called Marion (thank god the storm cleared up), and asked her to come home and help me, since I was feeling a little bit rundown. She told me she was on the first flight out of the Big Apple, because she was worried about Mutt.

Besides, she told me she misses me. Ooohhh… I can't wait to get some bedroom action for a change.

_Note to self:_ Down some medicine so that I wouldn't be tired when Marion gets home.

**Day Eleven:**

Goodbye bedroom action.

Goodbye pink lingerie that Marion bought from a classy lingerie store back in New York City.

Goodbye pleasure.

Hello itchy spots.

Hello thirty-eight degrees fever.

Hello nausea.

Yes. You guessed right. I caught the chicken pox. The minute Marion came back from New York, I found myself scratching my chest for no reason at all. It caused a misunderstanding between Marion and I, since she thought it was lame excuse not to hug her.

As if I didn't want to be close to her! I was planning on sedating Mutt (just joking) just so Marion and I could… ahem... spend some quality time together.

But noooooooo.

Marion contacted my Dad, and he confirmed her suspicion. I never caught the chicken pox before. So here I am, lying on the bed with Mutt. Hopefully he won't puke on me.

Anyway, got to go. Marion's going to help me take a bath—

_Hey_. Maybe getting sick with chicken pox is a good idea after all.

"Oh, Mariiiiiooooon! It's time for my bath, right?"

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PS.** It is done! I had fun doing this. Really. Although it is super late, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL MOMMIES! I planned this fic to be finished last May 10, but certain events delayed it. Anyhoo, pretty, pretty please press the button below this for a review. Thanks! :)


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